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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23804542">Descent</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Jade/pseuds/Basicallyjustatonofventfics'>Basicallyjustatonofventfics (Captain_Jade)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: The Next Generation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Anorexia, Bulimia, Denial, Depression, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, Fainting, Gen, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, Past Sexual Abuse, Recovery, Suicidal Thoughts, Wesley Crusher is Not Okay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:34:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,419</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23804542</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Jade/pseuds/Basicallyjustatonofventfics</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The sky is still dark and the air is still silent when he steps on the scale.<br/>This has become his routine.<br/>A ritual, of sorts.<br/>121 pounds. A brief smile appears on his face. He’s down two pounds.<br/>He examines himself in the mirror, pinches the fat on his stomach, counts the ribs that are starting to show through. (Disregards the dark circles under his eyes and the blank, haunted look on his face. That’s irrelevant.)<br/>He’s fine.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joshua Albert/Wesley Crusher</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Fine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I would like to issue a MASSIVE eating disorder trigger warning. This is going to get really graphic. Purging, restriction, binging, etc. Please please please be careful while reading, I care about my readers so much and I don't want anyone to get triggered because of me. :(</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>“Warning. This meal is insufficient in the caloric and nutrient needs of your height and wei-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shut up,” Wesley mutters, who is sick of hearing the replicator’s opinions on his food choices. He’s sure there’s a setting to turn it off, but he doesn’t bother. He’s too tired. Or something like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wesley takes the plate out of the replicator and opens the window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He likes it on Earth. He’s spent so much of his life in space, on starships with artificial lights and holodecks, which are certainly nice, but they’re nothing compared to the real thing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He wishes he could stay here forever</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>On this planet.</span>
  </em>
  <span> That’s not an option. He is supposed to eventually grow up to be the captain of his own starship, and that’s exactly what’s going to happen. There has never been any question in that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...There is a slight question in the back of his mind as to how the hell an apple, an orange, and 10 almonds became an acceptable meal, but he pushes that aside. Nobody has to know. He’ll stop soon. It’ll be fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daily total: 1,200 calories. Weight: 123 pounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Just don’t think about the anorexic whose funeral you went to last fall. You’re not like her.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can still see her lifeless face in the casket, caked with too much make-up to try and cover up the dark circles under her eyes. He can see the curled ringlets surrounding her face like a worn out baby doll. The morticians had tried their best to make her look less sickly, but she had already looked so dead before her heart stopped beating...(</span>
  <em>
    <span>We had such high hopes for her</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the funeral-goes whispered. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She was so smart before she started starving herself</span>
  </em>
  <span>…)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re just gonna end up like her, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the ounce of logic still left in him whispers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the hunger is so satisfying, and the emptiness so perfect, he doesn’t listen. His fingers wrap around the apple in his hand and he sets it back down on the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wesley jumps when the door opens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Josh says. “You said you’d help me study today, can we still…”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I did? When did I say that? </span>
  </em>
  <span>“I...oh, yeah, of course. Sorry, it just...slipped my mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wesley shakes his head. “No. It’s fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josh sits down at the table across from him and sets down his stuff. “Hey, are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Yeah, why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve just seemed really...distant and distracted lately. You’re not acting like yourself. That’s the other reason I came here today. I just wanna make sure...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wesley shakes his head and smiles. “I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool. Just checking. Hey, are you gonna eat that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The apple?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wesley pauses. “No. You can have it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Correction--daily total: 1,110).</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sky is still dark and the air is still silent when he steps on the scale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This has become his routine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A ritual, of sorts.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>121 pounds.</span>
  </em>
  <span> A brief smile appears on his face. He’s down two pounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He examines himself in the mirror, pinches the fat on his stomach, counts the ribs that are starting to show through. (Disregards the dark circles under his eyes and the blank, haunted look on his face. That’s irrelevant.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rice cake with peanut-butter and apple,” he tells the replicator. It gives its usual warning, which Wes is starting to take pride in for some sick reason. It means he’s doing this right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Whatever this is.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finishes his pathetic excuse for a breakfast a lot faster than he’d like to admit. His brain likes the incessant feeling of hunger, but the same cannot be said for the rest of his body. It thinks he’s starving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wesley stares at the replicator a few more minutes, but turns away once he realizes what he’s doing.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m on track right now, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he scolds himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t ruin it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Numbers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Hey, how come you never call me anymore? I always have to call you first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just...busy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too busy to call your own mother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mom, come on…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I know. I’m just kidding. I’m so proud of you, Wes,” Beverly beams over the video chat. “I mean, it’s not like it’s a surprise or anything. I always knew you’d get into the academy some day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Wes says awkwardly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly pauses. “Hey, are you doing okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, you just look a little tired.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wesley shakes his head. “No, I’m fine, Mom. It’s just...stress. And, uh, I have to go now. I have practice with the Nova Squadron.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. Please be careful. Love you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love you too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hits the end call button and stares at the black screen a few minutes before setting it down and standing up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instantly he’s hit with a wave of dizziness and he leans against the wall until everything stops spinning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To be honest, he’s a little worried about flying while feeling this dizzy and tired. It’s been almost two months since he started...dieting...and he hasn’t flown with it being </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>bad before. He’s tempted to have something to eat to make his head stop </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurting </span>
  </em>
  <span>so much, but he stops himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s Starfleet. He needs to be able to function through the pain. To ignore his own needs and focus on the mission at hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets his uniform on, downs a ton of water to try to combat the growling in his stomach, and leaves his dorm.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“Alright, I need everyone on their A game starting next week,” Nick announces, slipping his helmet on. “Well, I mean, now would be nice also, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>especially</span>
  </em>
  <span> next week, okay? I’ve got something planned.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, joy,” Josh mumbles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Nick barks, pointing a finger at Josh. “No complaining. It’s gonna be epic. Believe me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m kidding! I’m sure it will be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While they all get in their ships, the other four chatting unprofessionally over the radio, Wesley silently re-counts the calories in everything he’s had to eat today to make sure he didn’t forget anything. He’s at 1,000 already, which makes him a little angry with himself. Maybe more than a little. Yesterday he only had </span>
  <em>
    <span>400</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and this morning he woke up he was down another two pounds. It won’t be too long until he gets into the double-digits. Wesley realizes this with a start, and a sick sense of satisfaction wraps itself around his brain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey, Crusher, are you paying attention?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sito’s voice takes him back to reality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You okay?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands are shaky and his heart is pounding and his stomach is growling and his head is aching and… “Yes, of course. I’m fine.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“Okay, seriously. There’s something going on with you, isn’t there?” Josh drops his books on the table, and Wesley jolts awake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve never fallen asleep in class before. Ever. Possibly never in your entire life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure I have before,” Wesley yawns, turning to look at Josh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” Josh asks, but it sounds more like a statement than a question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes! Why does everyone keep-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you’re clearly </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You look </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>tired </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>the time. You keep forgetting things. You never hang out with us anymore. And, you know, Sito was right...your maneuvering is getting a little...I don’t know. You just used to be better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wesley shakes his head. “No. No, Josh, I’m fine, I swear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not dropping it until you tell me what’s going on!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing is going on!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up!” a girl sitting behind them hisses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josh glares at her and drops his voice down to a whisper. "I'm not dropping it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What don’t you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what’s wrong.” Which is, of course, a lie. He knows exactly what’s wrong. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He knows exactly what this </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> is. Anorexia Nervosa. But that is a word he will only say to himself. In secret, it feels like a trophy or a medal. An accomplishment. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Or maybe a friend</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But hearing it come from anybody else’s mouth makes his blood run cold and his heart pound in his chest and </span>
  <em>
    <span>panic panic panic panic I do not have that that is not mine I am not here.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, Josh and Wes end up holding hands. Josh looks at him. “It’s okay,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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